


Explorations

by zerodaryls



Series: Aziraphale's Indulgences [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (but not very often because clits are more fun), (but yearning is Not Allowed), Aziraphale Has All the Kinks, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has an Oral Fixation, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Repressed, Aziraphale is a Hoe tbh, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Fantasizing, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Making an Effort (Good Omens), Masturbation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Sexual Fantasy, Unintentional Voyeurism (briefly mentioned and rather innocent), it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodaryls/pseuds/zerodaryls
Summary: A prequel to the events in my other fic,Delectable. We'll be exploring Aziraphale's exploration of, ah, himself, through the ages. Ineffable yearning will play a significant role as time goes on (our favorite angel has a robust fantasy life), but this is all gonna be solo play.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Aziraphale's Indulgences [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641928
Comments: 25
Kudos: 116





	1. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets bored while guarding Eden. Then he remembers something interesting he saw Eve do once...

Aziraphale was bored. 

He’d been guarding the Eastern gate of the Garden for some, oh, perhaps three or four hours, he supposed, since the humans had been forced to leave. He wasn’t quite sure what he was guarding anymore. Was he meant to just… keep them from coming back? How long would he have to do this? What was the point?

Far be it from him to question his assignment, though, of course. He sighed, glancing around the desert as if he expected to see, well, _anything_ remarkable. He couldn’t even see Adam or Eve in the distance anymore.

Oh, that reminded him. Eve. He’d seen her, only a few days prior, discovering (or, _inventing_ , rather) the joys of masturbation. It had been an intriguing sight, to say the least, but he hadn’t made much of it at the time. After all, being sexless himself, he had no concept of what that sort of pleasure might be like.

Aziraphale had discovered the pleasure of eating almost immediately upon taking his assignment in the Garden. He’d seen the human couple eating a berry-like fruit, and, out of curiosity, had picked a few for himself. Oh, the way they had practically _melted_ in his mouth…

The angel's mouth watered at the memory. He swallowed, and shrugged himself back into focus. He had a duty to uphold. Guard the gate. Don’t get distracted with these human pleasures. A corporation was a necessary means in order to do Heaven’s work on Earth, he reminded himself, nothing more.

But as he stood at his post, staring blankly ahead at the desert before him, he sighed. A little bit of pleasure couldn’t _hurt_ , could it? And Eve had looked _so_ blissful that day in the Garden. Aziraphale wondered what it’d be like…

“Well,” he said to himself, sweeping his gaze around the area to _ensure_ he was alone, “I suppose I could… try…”

Aziraphale hiked the hem of his tunic up around his thighs, and snuck a tentative hand underneath the fabric. He felt around the sexless area between his legs, sucking in a sharp breath as he formed a vulva beneath his fingertips. Oh, he was not ready for this. What sensation! He shuddered as his new genitalia became fully formed, chewing on his lip when his fingers brushed against his clit. So _that_ was why she’d been making all those sounds. Aziraphale found he could hardly contain the moans forming in his own throat as a shaky hand grazed lightly over his sex.

His other hand flew to the wall behind him in effort to steady himself. “Oh,” he moaned as his middle finger parted his labia. What was that slickness? Was that normal? Had Eve been so… _wet_? Aziraphale hadn’t been close enough to see. Once his fingertip was coated in his own wetness, he instinctually brought it back up to his clit. The sensation sent a jolting thrill throughout his body. He felt something in his gut that he’d never experienced before. 

His legs started to quiver as he slid his finger back down to that wetness, then back up to his clit, over and over. He threw his head back, hitting it on the wall. He sucked in a sharp breath, but continued to touch himself. After a few minutes, he tentatively circled his finger around his hole, and bit down hard on his lip as he breached it. Oh, that wasn’t quite as pleasant as he’d hoped. Bit tight, really. Almost painful. He withdrew the finger from himself and returned it to his clit, quickening the pace.

Something began to build in him. His clit felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t seem to rub it fast enough. Or hard enough. He pressed as deeply as he could against himself in a futile attempt to satisfy the urgent sense of _need_ between his legs.

It was almost too much. He let himself fall back against the wall, his legs shaking as his breathing became erratic. 

It _was_ too much, he decided. He promptly pulled his hand away from himself and miracled it clean. He gave a deep sigh, and shrugged his shoulders a few times, trying to bring himself back into the moment and out of… whatever it was that he’d just been in. Ecstasy? Near-ecstasy, at least. He got the sense that he hadn’t quite, ah, _concluded_ his exploration of his sex, in the way it had seemed Eve had, but he decided that was something he could return to at a later time.

Well, not two minutes later, Aziraphale was ready to go again. He just _had_ to know what it felt like to reach that state of bliss. What harm could come from it? It wasn't as though anyone was looking. Yes, he decided, he might as well try again. Then he heard the worst possible thing one could hear after having just touched themself and preparing to do so again: the voice of God.

“Aziraphale, where is the flaming sword I gave you?”

Right, then. No more explorations of _that_ sort for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna make clear that Aziraphale wasn't creepin' on Eve. She literally invented masturbation, so. There was really no societal standard on it being private at the time. He didn't even make anything of it at the time, he just filed it under "interesting things humans do". Then he got bored and wanted to try something interesting, what can I say?
> 
> Now he just needs a thousand years or so to recover from almost getting caught masturbating by God Herself. (As if She doesn't see everything anyway?? Is God not omniscient in the GO Universe?) Anyway, again, it's not that masturbation was this big shameful thing yet, as far as humans were concerned––more that he was afraid he'd get scolded for indulging in such human behaviour (and not being focused on his assignment). Tsk, tsk.
> 
> Poor Aziraphale. Don't worry, though. We'll see him finish next time. :)


	2. Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oysters have long been considered something of an aphrodisiac. But it’s not what you eat; it’s who you’re eating with.

Aziraphale was delighted, _overjoyed_ , really, to have succeeded in tempting Crowley to try oysters with him. He’d been downright _giddy_ since spotting the demon unexpectedly, and was determined to enjoy every moment he had with him. After all, Crowley was the only familiar face in Rome. Well, anywhere, really. Oh, sure, Aziraphale had gotten to know many humans throughout the ages, but none had been so constant in his life as the demon Crowley. He’d known him since, well, the Beginning! No humans would ever be able to claim such familiarity with him. He knew he shouldn’t be so excited about seeing a demon, but, oh, he definitely _was_.

He told himself it was simply that he enjoyed sharing the experience of eating with others. He just wanted to see someone he knew try something he’d already had–to _introduce_ him to it, no less. It was quite satisfying to watch someone enjoy something you recommended! That was all. No need to make anything out of it.

The oysters were delicious, as expected. What was _un_ expected was the desire Aziraphale found rising in his chest. Or, rather, somewhere a bit lower. Somewhere that was like a phantom, a feeling from a place that didn’t currently exist between his legs.

The memory of his first experience with sexuality rose in his mind like the flame of a candle, suddenly flickering into brightness. He nearly gagged on his third oyster as he recalled the sensation of rubbing his clit, earning a perplexed and mildly concerned frown from Crowley. The recollection of sensations he hadn’t felt in several millennia burned in his mind brighter and brighter until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He _had_ to try it again. And this time, he was determined to feel whatever bliss he knew he’d stopped short of before.

He managed to make it through the rest of the meal without revealing his situation to Crowley, save for a few raised eyebrows in direct response to Aziraphale’s increasingly suspicious behaviour. The angel was more relieved than he cared to admit when they finally parted ways, feeling just a bit guilty as he scurried off to his room at the inn he’d been staying at. It had been too close, he thought. Any longer and Crowley might have caught on to the blush in Aziraphale’s cheeks, the desperate tone overtaking his voice, the uncomfortable shifts whenever his phantom clit pulsed, begging to be formed again, or the little whimpers he had to stifle in his throat. There was only so much he could blame on wine.

As soon as he was safe in his room, Aziraphale threw himself onto the bed with a groan. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and sat upright, his legs out in front of him. He stared down at his corporation for a moment before giving a firm nod. “Right.” _Let’s just… try this once more._

He reached his hand up his tunic, then gave a huff and wished himself out of his clothes. Miraculously nude, he leaned back where the bed met the wall and rested his head against it. He formed a vulva for himself for the first time in millennia, and wasted no time in pressing the palm of his hand against his sex.

Oh, _that’s_ how it had felt. He’d nearly forgotten. The memory of it simply hadn’t _compared_. A thrilling feeling coursed through his body at the contact, and he got to work right away at rubbing himself. He’d learned a bit more about human sexuality since his last attempt, and he now understood the wetness growing between his legs to be natural. He wondered what it tasted like. It was a rather unholy idea, the angel thought, but _oh_ , so intriguing.

Aziraphale brought his slick fingers to his mouth. He eyed them for a moment, suddenly unsure of himself. He sucked in a sharp breath, then rolled his eyes. “Oh, _honestly_.” He darted his tongue out and allowed himself a taste. _Oh._ His eyes went wide. _Oh, my._

That shouldn’t be as arousing as it was, should it? Did most humans enjoy the taste of their own sex? Aziraphale decided he didn’t care as he slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked. It was _divine_ , he decided. And he supposed it quite literally was. The taste of an angel must have _some_ sort of divinity to it, even if he was engaging in something that, well… Heaven had never said _not_ to do it, had they? It was harmless! And it wasn’t as though he was doing it _with_ anyone. He couldn’t be blamed for tempting anyone to sin. He was simply indulging himself, as he did with food and other worldly delights. Perhaps not _admirable_ in Heaven’s eyes, but hardly punishable, as far as he knew. Or at least that was what he told himself as he continued sucking on his fingers.

Still, the idea of admitting to anyone that he engaged in such behaviour made him nervous. It wasn’t as though any humans he knew went around bragging about how good a time they’d had being so intimate with themselves. (Well, a few crude men he’d had the displeasure of meeting, sure, but nobody _decent_.)

His little secret, then, he decided.

Satisfied that he’d sucked all the flavor from his fingertips, Aziraphale brought his hand back down to his clit and used all three of those spit-slick fingers to rub as quickly as he could manage.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to drift fully into the pleasure. He let his other hand drop from his chest to his thigh, and he mindlessly clutched at the skin there. How and _why_ had he taken so long to give masturbation another go? He’d practically forgotten about it, having been occupied with other things. That was, until his own corporation had decided it _needed_ to be touched.

What had set it off? He’d been in a completely nonsexual state of mind all day, right up until eating those oysters– Oh! The oysters! _That’s_ when it had all started, hadn’t it? Aziraphale recalled the exact moment that sense of _need_ had begun to flare up within him. He’d just shown Crowley how to properly eat an oyster, when he’d suddenly felt all tingly. He replayed the memory in his mind. Crowley had frowned skeptically, but brought the mollusk to his lips, tilted his head back, and slurped. The demon had licked his lips after swallowing–a simple, innocent act that Aziraphale had found contagious.

“Oh _, Crowley_ ,” he moaned, pressing harder against his clit. His eyes shot open when he realized what he’d said. His fingers slowed to a stop between his legs. _Where in Heaven’s– Where did_ that _come from?_

Oh, so it had been _Crowley_ that had stirred that feeling in him.

“No, no. That’s not–” Aziraphale was startled into silence by his own mind, which had decided (without being _asked_ , thank you very much) to bombard the angel with images of Crowley. He saw the demon licking his lips, smirking at him, forming a vulva for himself, reaching long, slender fingers down to rub at his sex, and– When had Aziraphale started touching himself again? _No_ , he rebuked himself, stilling his hand once again. _You mustn’t think of such things!_

But Aziraphale was rather inexperienced with lust, and thus ill-equipped to fight it–though he tried. With no small amount of resistance, images of Crowley in rather inappropriate situations worked their way into Aziraphale’s mind. He tried, really he did, to hold them back, but one particular mental image of Crowley grasping at bed linens, his knuckles white as Aziraphale _himself_ pleasured the demon with his fingers… Well, that was all it took. Aziraphale was lost. The floodgates had opened, and soon he found himself repeatedly moaning the demon’s name with abandon, his fingers, thickly lubricated with his own wetness, rapidly rubbing at his clit. He closed his eyes and let himself swim in his imagination, envisioning Crowley in all sorts of delightful positions.

“Mmmm, Crowley,” he whimpered, his back arching just a bit as he pressed himself harder against his fingertips. “P-please, ah, mmmmph.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open once more as he felt that familiar heat building in him––the one that’d been too much for him all those years ago. The one he’d stopped just a tad too soon. But not _this_ time, he decided. This time he’d see it through to the bliss-filled end.

He made the mistake of considering what Crowley might look like when reaching that state of bliss, himself. What kind of sinful moans would spill from the demon’s mouth when white hot pleasure overtook him? And, oh, imagine the sounds that would fill the room if the two of them were going at it _together_! It sent a delightful jolt throughout the angel’s body.

_Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Just a little more,_ Aziraphale thought, his desperation growing. An imagined scene of the demon shouting Aziraphale’s name in ecstasy was what finally sent the angel over the edge. “ _Crowley,_ oh, _yes! Yes!_ ”

It was world-shattering, his first orgasm. It absolutely destroyed the world Aziraphale thought he knew and built one in its place that held enough room for the kind of _unfathomable_ pleasure he’d just experienced. His entire body tingled for a minute after the event, and for a moment he could’ve sworn he’d gone blind.

Right. Well, clearly he’d be doing _that_ again.

Once Aziraphale caught his breath, he heaved a sigh and, with a thought, cleaned his fingers and the bed linens that he’d absolutely _soaked_ in the space around his thighs. 

It only occurred to him after the fact that, had someone been observing him, there would have been no hiding that he’d been lusting after a demon. Indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, well, that was one thing. Heaven already knew of Aziraphale’s affinity for food, and, given their nonchalance about sex, he supposed that they wouldn’t think of it much differently than any other human indulgence. But to entertain thoughts of such things _with a demon_? Aziraphale swallowed thickly, and made a mental note never to utter Crowley’s name in such a way again.

“Oh, you shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about such things,” he scolded himself aloud as he stood. He waved a hand, redressing himself. “Whatever you do, just don’t think of _him_.”

His resilience lasted about two and a half weeks. Now that Aziraphale had had a taste, he found himself making regular time to, ah, get a proper _feel_ for his corporation. He could hardly go two days in a row without touching himself. He fought off thoughts of Crowley the first eight times, but on the ninth…

Crowley was laid back on the bed, his legs spread wide. In Aziraphale’s mind, that is. Oh, and Aziraphale? Aziraphale had his head between Crowley’s legs, lapping at the demon’s vulva.

He wasn’t sure that Crowley would choose that particular sex for himself, but for the purposes of Aziraphale’s fantasies, the idea of tasting a cunt that wasn’t his own worked wonders.

In reality, he rubbed fervently at his clit as he imagined licking and sucking Crowley to a state of bliss, licking his lips and moaning at the thought. Every few minutes, he’d bring his fingers to his lips to have a taste of his own slickness, and imagined it was Crowley’s. After about 15 minutes of this, he closed his eyes and brought his other hand to his mouth after coating it in his own juices. He parted his fingers to make a “V” shape and began licking, enhancing his fantasy to the point that he found himself moaning against his hand.

_Does that feel good?_ , he asked fantasy-Crowley. 

Fantasy-Crowley, the useless figment, didn’t say anything back. He _did_ let out a particularly obscene moan, though, which sent a jolt throughout Aziraphale’s body.

He was close. He’d learned to recognize when his orgasm was building, and knew exactly how much more attention his body would need before tipping over that thrilling edge.

How delightful it would be if Crowley could go over the edge with him! How wonderful to share that experience of bliss with the demon. He whimpered, resolving to be content with his little fantasy as he rubbed at his clit.

He continued licking and sucking at his fingers, imagining that Crowley was just as close to orgasm as he was. Before he knew it, he was coming–along with his imagined Crowley, who arched his back and pressed his cunt harder against Aziraphale’s eager mouth.

“Crowley, mmmmph, _yes_.”

Oh, Aziraphale was in _deep_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied earlier when I said he'd wait 1,000 years to try again. It was more like 4,000. Poor dear. :/
> 
> But now that he's finally, truly tried his hand (lol) at orgasming... *rubs hands together* I'm gonna have so much fun with him in the coming chapters. :D


	3. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries something new. Something hard, lengthy, with some sticky results... You get the picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notice (mild spoilers):
> 
> Aziraphale has a penis, sudden change of genitals, come eating

After those first two and a half weeks of masturbating every other night, Aziraphale fell into the habit of indulging in solo sex _every_ evening. After all, the rest of the world was asleep, and it wasn’t as though he was busy enough with his heavenly duties to remain occupied through both the day _and_ the night. What else was he to do? In the wee small hours of the morning, it was quiet, he was unlikely to be disturbed, and his mind tended to wander.

He’d rubbed his clit to orgasm more times than he could count. (Well, he _could_ have counted them, but the whole affair was so distracting he really wasn’t thinking of record-keeping.) One night, he’d dared to slip a finger inside his cunt, and after a period of adjustment (and maybe a minor miracle to loosen himself up), he’d fucked himself on his fingers so thoroughly he was sore the next day. Right, then. Still not a preferred method.

After 15 consecutive days (well, nights, really) of getting to know his cunt _quite_ well, thank you, he decided to try something new. It wasn’t that he was bored of the pleasure brought on by rubbing his clit–as if such a thing were even possible! No, he was simply… curious about other possibilities. And he’d imagined Crowley’s wet and inviting cunt so much he’d developed a desire to be _inside_ of it. He’d imagined the taste of it, the feeling of that heat tightening around his tongue, his fingers, the cock he was about to grow for himself. Of course, he knew he’d never be able to have such things. But one could dream. And dream, he did.

With a slow exhale, he looked down at his bare body, the pulsing clit between his legs, already red with overstimulation from the two orgasms he’d worked himself through over the past three hours. He didn’t usually dedicate so much time to these activities, but he’d had quite a bit to drink, and had gone over a month without seeing Crowley (well, outside of his fantasies, that is). He was just a bit stressed and wasn’t particularly in the mood to think about what his growing attraction to the demon might mean, so he distracted himself with the pleasures of the flesh.

He was already nude and draped lazily over his cot at the inn he’d been patronizing for the past few days. It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed upon which he’d experienced his first few orgasms, but it supported him well enough and allowed him to throw his head back in ecstasy without hitting the wall. He seemed to have been making an unfortunate habit of being so careless in the heat of the moment that he’d occasionally bang his head against some sort of hard surface, the poor dear. So, instead, he’d learned to lie back on the bed or cot or even on floor cushions, keeping his head safe as he pleasured himself to the occasional point of convulsion.

He ran shaky fingers over his clit and felt it pulse itself into a size just a tad larger than before. Then it continued to grow as he sucked in a sharp breath, until his clit was replaced with a good sized cock, testes hanging heavily where the rest of his cunt used to be. He groaned at the sight, and the sudden extension of that throbbing sensation. He _needed_ to be touched. He wished more than anything that Crowley was there to do it, to run long, slender fingers over his new cock. But he resolved to take care of himself, as he’d been doing for the past month–as he knew he’d _always_ have to do.

He’d given up on keeping thoughts of the demon at bay during these intimate moments with himself, but he continued to fight the deeper feelings that often popped up alongside the carnal fantasies. The, “Oh, how wonderful it would be to see him so happy, to share the joy of such intimacy with him!” Nope. Not allowed. “I would take such good care of him.” No. “We could embrace afterwards. I could gaze into those exquisitely yellow eyes in the candlelight until the sun came up.” _Absolutely_ not! There would be absolutely _no_ yearning allowed, thankyouverymuch! Certainly not for a _demon_.

The sex, though. Well, that was different! It was a mere fantasy, a way to help him reach that blissful climax! Couldn’t _really_ be wrong, could it? And it wasn’t as though anyone had to _know_ about it. He would, of course, never _act_ on such fantasies! But the more… _emotional_ side of it all–the longing for early morning cuddles and kisses and fond gazes into heavy-lidded eyes, well. If he entertained _those_ sorts of thoughts, he might just trip and fall right into the demon’s arms one day, he feared, putting the both of them at unthinkable risk. So, away those heartfelt thoughts went, as he batted the air. _He will never touch you. You will never touch him. You’re hardly even friends! Do be wise about it now and get over it. Just… let this be enough._

With an exasperated sigh, Aziraphale shook his head and brought himself back to the moment. Ah, yes. Right. Nice new cock, standing at attention, waiting for release. He took the length in his hand and gave it a few tentative strokes. Oh, that was nice. Not quite as sensitive as his clit, but it would serve its purpose for the evening. With another shaky exhale, he used a minor miracle to conjure up some oil into his palm and began sliding his hand up and down his shaft with ease. He shuddered at the sensation and tightened his grasp around his cock, biting down on his bottom lip hard.

After a few more strokes, he remembered the reason he’d been so inspired to form this particular sex for himself. Crowley. Crowley’s cunt, moreover. Or, the idea of it. He imagined his hand was instead the tight wet heat of the demon as he fucked it, grunting with each thrust until the slippery slickness made him all too sensitive and the grunts turned into desperate whimpers. Oh, this wouldn’t take long at all.

He continued to fuck his fist, closing his eyes as he let his imagination take over. Crowley was straddling him, one hand on his own neck, the other on Aziraphale’s hip, steadying himself as he fucked himself on the angel’s cock. “Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned, his voice hoarse from all the fucking they must have done throughout the imagined day. “Mmmph, feels good, you inside me like this.”

Aziraphale moaned, instinctively reaching his other hand out to touch the fantasy. He opened his eyes with disappointment at the handful of air. He shook himself out of his self-pity, because _absolutely no yearning allowed,_ and instead refocused his attention on fucking his fist. 

He swiped his thumb over the leaking tip of his cock, and gave a shout so loud he worried for a moment that neighboring guests might hear him. His breath quickening, he ran his thumb over the sensitive head once again, and hissed at the feeling. Realizing there was a bit more technique in cock-stroking than he’d anticipated, he settled himself into a rhythm of stroking his length several times, then bringing his oil-slick thumb up and around the head, paying special attention to the ridge, and then returning to the stroking. Over, and over, and over, until his already sweaty body was _drenched_ , soaking the fabric of the cot he lay on.

“Mmm,” he groaned, “Crowley. You feel so good, dear.”

The “dear” in this context was decidedly in the _not allowed_ category of his fantasy life, but he let it slide because he was just _so_ _close_.

“I-I’m gonna– Ah!” cried Crowley from the confines of Aziraphale’s mind, which really didn’t seem to want to let up. “Mmmph, please, more, please, please, yes, _fuck_ me, angel, make me– _Oh, fuck_!” And then Crowley was coming, the walls of his cunt constricting around Aziraphale’s cock just like the angel had noticed his own cunt did through every orgasm. Aziraphale accounted for the imagined sensation in reality by squeezing his length in pulses. Not five seconds later, he came with a visceral groan, covering his hand with a substance he’d yet to have encountered.

_Ah, yes, right,_ he thought as he caught his breath. _Ejaculation_. He’d nearly forgotten about that. He brought a sticky palm to his face and, after breathing in the musky scent that was definitely different than his usual juices and yet still undeniably _him_ , licked the fluid clean off with one long swipe of his tongue. He frowned against his palm, but swallowed the seed nonetheless. Not his favorite flavor, nor consistency, but it still sent a shiver down his spine at the mere idea that he was tasting the result of his own pleasure. He groaned around the taste as he considered what _Crowley’s_ seed would taste like. He swallowed thickly and imagined the demon’s thick fluid coating his throat, the thought tearing a hungry moan from him.

With a contented sigh, he shrunk his cock back down into his more familiar clit, and returned the rest of his sex to its usual state. Much better. Oh, he’d enjoyed that little experiment, for sure, and was likely to try it again. But he’d grown to love his soft, plump vulva, and the pretty pink nub that rested at its crown which served no other purpose than to bring him pleasure. And bring him pleasure, it did.

He worked himself (and “Crowley”) through one more clitoral orgasm before cleaning himself up and welcoming the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor dear, not letting himself feel the Feelings. Aziraphale, you precious baby, pleasure tastes so much better with a side of Feelings!! Loosen up, angel! (It may take a while.)
> 
> I've finally got a legitimate outline for this fic! I've got a list of canon-inspired moments for him to continue with his Exploring, and a list of all the fun sorts of things he can get up to. (Mini-spoiler: Being chained up in Paris might have brought on some Realizations.)
> 
> I think I might start putting content notices in notes at the beginning of each chapter, so that people can skip chapters if, say, bondage or food kink isn't their thing.
> 
> If you have any requests for the sorts of things you'd like to see him try, I won't guarantee that I'll write them but I'm happy to hear your suggestions! :)


	4. Wessex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley made a dangerously stupid (or stupidly dangerous?) suggestion in Wessex. Aziraphale de-stresses and imagines another kind of Arrangement entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notice (mild spoilers):
> 
> Aziraphale has a vulva, then a penis, then a vulva again (sudden change of genitals).  
> Angry masturbating.  
> Fantasies of rough sex (sprinkled with praise kink because he's Soft™).  
> Blood (from biting his own lip).  
> Penis-in-vagina sex fantasy (Crowley in Aziraphale). Coming inside.  
>  **Hints of a possible dubcon/noncon fantasy** of Aziraphale being used by Crowley (he doesn't entertain the thought, and I will definitely warn y'all if he ever does in future chapters; I'm not sure yet if that'll happen–it's something I may want to explore with him because I think his repression would make fantasies like this somewhat likely, tbh, but I will _definitely_ warn y'all if he ever gets to that point and I would write it so that you can easily skip the chapter without really missing anything).

How _dare_ he?! Suggesting… _lying_ to their respective sides? 

Armor hit the floor in clanks, Aziraphale huffing with each layer shed. 

The _nerve_ of him! Was he even _thinking_? Was he capable of reason? They could be caught! They could be _punished_! And whatever torment heaven could inflict on a disobedient angel surely would pale in comparison to what hell would do to Crowley if they were found out. Why, for all they knew, Crowley could even be _killed_! Did he think of that at all?! The _idiot_!

Now, by this time in his rather extensive experience with self-sexing, Aziraphale had grown used to touching himself as a means of de-stressing. As the last of his layers hit the floor, the angel’s hand found its way to his sex as if by instinct. His clit bulged at the way his fingers attacked it, and, seemingly understanding that its owner wanted to clench his fist around something, grew itself into a cock.

Aziraphale began stroking himself furiously, his face screwed up into one of frustration with only the slightest hint of relief at the physical sensations he was giving himself.

How _could_ he? Suggesting such a dangerous plot! Did he not care about the repercussions if they were found out? As though spending time around one another weren’t enough of a risk! Sharing each other’s heavenly and hellish duties? Unthinkable! _Impossible_!

Aziraphale pumped his cock, squeezing his eyes shut as he grunted and groaned in the privacy of his room. He came in seconds, his seed shooting up and falling gracelessly to the ground. Aziraphale blinked down at the mess and frowned. That was… different. In all the angel’s dealings with his sex, no matter the form it took, he was always, well, _present_ with it. But this time? He’d hardly even been aware of what he’d been doing. 

That, and, though he could never admit it, he’d always entertained certain fantasies while touching himself. There’d been none of that this time. The only thoughts he’d had of Crowley had been how disappointed he was in him for being so careless. There’d been no tight cunt to lick or fuck into, no leaking cock to taste or impale himself on. No soft sighs or guttural moans from the imagined demon. And all at once it hit Aziraphale that he’d been coming, exclusively, _habitually–_ damn near _ritualistically_ , even–to thoughts of Crowley for 500 years.

Never had another being entered his mind when he touched himself. Never had he touched himself and _not_ thought of Crowley, not since he dove headfirst into those fantasies all those centuries ago. 

Aziraphale worried at his lower lip as he waved a hand to clean up his mess. Well, part of it. His seed was no longer splattered across the floor. But the mess he’d gotten himself into by allowing himself the indulgence of such sweet fantasies? Certainly no miracle would free him of _that_.

And why should it? Aziraphale held that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing. He was still doing his work as assigned from heaven. He wasn’t getting his imagined Crowley mixed up with the real Crowley; he was all too aware of the differences! There was no need to worry about his fantasy life ruining their acquaintanceship. And, most importantly, he reminded himself, he wasn’t ever going to be _acting_ on his fantasies. They were merely _thoughts_. So, not wrong. After all, as Crowley himself had once said: he was an angel, he _couldn’t_ do the wrong thing! Right?

Crowley, though. Crowley could. Crowley could suggest an absolutely _idiotic_ idea. And Aziraphale could be upset about it. And Aziraphale _was_ upset about it, he remembered. He tensed as he recalled once again what the demon had said to him earlier that day. He understood it, of _course_ he understood it. It made sense. Save them both quite a lot of trouble, really. But the _risk_!

Aziraphale shook his head and sighed. He was not fond of risk. Rather risk- _averse_ , when it came right down to it. Oh, he toyed with the idea of it, in the safety of his own mind. It could be exhilarating, the thought of doing something… reckless. Especially if…

Swiftly, Crowley’s “let’s not and say we did” plan inspired Aziraphale to imagine being propositioned by the demon for something else entirely. More of a “let’s _do_ and say we _didn’t_ ”–where the _doing_ would be, ah, well, each other. What if they were to work out an arrangement where they could just… go at each other and keep it a secret? Their acquaintanceship of course was already a secret, but, if they were to, say, add a few exciting elements to it…

Aziraphale knew this could never be, that it was _far_ too risky to be worth it, but, _oh_ , the _idea_ of it…

He _loved_ the idea of it. Aziraphale thought of secret meetings for even more secretive affairs. Bodies pressed against each other, clinging desperately as heaven and hell met in the middle, in the most human of ways. Crowley writhing beneath him, his nails leaving marks on Aziraphale’s back that he’d have to use a minor miracle to get rid of (or perhaps he would keep them carefully concealed under his clothing, another fun little secret). Crowley moaning. _Really_ moaning, _out loud_ –not just in the angel’s fantasies. He thought of Crowley moaning Aziraphale’s _name_ , just under his breath, in case anyone might be able to hear their passion in action. They’d have to stay anonymous of course, perhaps meet under different names, in disguises, even, for added security.

Aziraphale began to palm at his cunt as he thought of Crowley coming on Aziraphale’s fingers, or his mouth, or his cock. His knees went weak at the thought of it happening for _real_. He thought of himself, coming in tandem with his lover. His _lover_ , yes, whom he’d refer to as such only in hot breath against the demon’s ear, when he could later blame it on the heat of the moment.

“Lover” was a word he’d banished to his Off-Limits list in his rich little fantasy life; he didn’t want to complicate things for himself. He feared he might start to confuse his attraction to the demon for something even more dangerous. Something softer. Something that would hurt in unbearable ways if he gave in to _that_ sort of yearning. So, no. He wouldn’t call him “lover”, he decided. Not even in the safety of this hypothetical affair.

…But, _were_ he to call him that, would Crowley respond in kind? Would he whisper sweet nothings in the angel’s ear? Would he cherish him, as Aziraphale would cherish Crowley? And, oh, how Aziraphale would! (This, he decided, did not count as yearning. It simply amounted to being a good and generous lover. Er, that is, to being attentive and unselfish in the midst of sex acts. It was quite virtuous, really, if one thought about it.)

Aziraphale fingered his cunt as he continued to wonder… Would Crowley hold it dear? Would he be looking forward to each rendezvous with as much excitement as Aziraphale would be? Would he start coming up with any excuse to meet with him? Finding ways to get assigned to the same area just so that they could be together in the most intimate way?

Or would Crowley even _want_ such intimacy with him? Aziraphale had hardly allowed himself to ponder his own attraction to the demon, let alone whether that passion was reciprocated.

He must be interested in _some_ sort of sexual activity, Aziraphale thought. He was a _demon_ , after all. Some level of carnality was to be expected, wasn’t it? Especially from the original tempter, himself!

Would Crowley only be interested in sex with Aziraphale for the virtue (er,sin) of desecrating an angel? It was unheard of, as far as Aziraphale knew. Demons fucking angels, that is. Even still, they would likely hand Crowley a proper trophy in hell for such a feat.

_Oh, stop it! He would_ never _do that to me!_ Aziraphale blinked away the rather dark fantasy that threatened to emerge if he continued down that particular path of thought.1

No, Crowley would never use Aziraphale to get ahead in hell. The angel knew him well enough to know _that_. He even doubted that Crowley would be the type to use him simply for pleasure, without a care for the angel’s feelings. Not that he had any on the matter, of course; he would be _entirely_ capable of fucking Crowley without becoming too attached, he was sure. But he believed that, in this theoretical dalliance, both sides would maintain a certain level of respect for the other. They would be gentle. Soft, even. When they weren’t being animalistic, of course. Aziraphale bit his lower lip as he imagined Crowley launching himself at him, pinning him to a wall; a tree; the ground; _anything_ , and thoroughly ravaging him, all the while telling him that he was lovely; that he was doing so well for him; that Crowley loved all the sounds he was making.

“So good for me, angel,” he’d say, soft lips pressed to Aziraphale’s pink-tipped ear. “You’re taking my cock so well.”

Aziraphale groaned, adding another finger and then quickly a third as he fucked himself on his hand.

“You’re so beautiful, angel. Love having you like this. Such a sight, such _sounds_. Keep moaning for me, Aziraphale, don’t hold it back.”

The angel obeyed his fantasy, a breathy moan escaping his lips as he imagined Crowley’s cock in his cunt, pounding him at unnatural speeds. He felt nails dig into the flesh of his hip, and for a moment almost believed they truly were Crowley’s rather than those of his own free hand. He sped up the pace of his fingers inside him, and moved his other hand from his hip to rub at his clit. It was an awkward angle; he was still standing, which he wasn’t used to. Typically he’d be lying down while touching himself. But he was a bit too caught up in the moment to think about moving anything but his hands. He curled the fingers inside him, hitting that spot that made him groan and throw his head back in ecstasy.

“You’re so lovely, Crowley,” he said aloud, then winced and bit his tongue such that it might have bled had he been human. He’d never bitten himself hard enough to draw blood before, but he was almost certain it would be possible if he just put a bit more effort into it. Would he _want_ that? Under the right circumstances, that is? He imagined Crowley’s teeth on his neck, nipping at the delicate skin, piercing the flesh just above his collarbone. Oh, how we wanted to be marked! To have some physical evidence of Crowley’s affections.

_Lust,_ he reminded himself. _Not affections._ And he wouldn’t be getting any physical evidence because there was nothing physical happening between them, and there wouldn’t be! _Let. This. Be. Enough._

“I can never get enough of you, angel.”

Aziraphale came with a whimper and the imagined feeling of Crowley’s seed filling his hungry cunt. He bit his lip hard, and tasted something… metallic. Ah, he _could_ draw blood, then. Good to know.

He let his breathing return to its usual, slower pace. (He found it quite comforting to breathe, especially when coming down from an orgasm.) Well, he’d gotten a bit distracted, there, hadn’t he? Where was he? Ah, yes. Whether Crowley might be interested in such things.

Oh, how could anyone _not_ be?2 And demons were all about the pleasures of the flesh, were they not? Then again, Crowley wasn’t like other demons. He didn’t seem to enjoy food as Aziraphale did, for one thing. What if he really wasn’t as hedonistic as… Oh, dear. Well, that thought just wouldn’t do. For one, Aziraphale was _not_ hedonistic; he was an angel!3 And more importantly, for the sake of his fantasies, he needed to imagine that Crowley might be as full of attraction for Aziraphale as he was for the demon.

But, even assuming that Crowley would be interested in having sex with Aziraphale… might he get bored with him? If demons were as promiscuous as angels were led to believe… would Crowley find himself dissatisfied after a few passionate fucks? Would he be enough for him? Or would he move on to the next thing that caught his interest? Crowley was always moving, like those unnatural hips of his. He seemed to keep up with the times far better than Aziraphale did. Would he leave him behind in search of something more exciting? Would Aziraphale be able to cope if he did? Would it be enough to “get it out of his system”, as it were?

_Oh, will you_ stop _?! This is completely irrelevant! No such things will ever occur between us. He’ll never have the chance to get bored with me, and I’ll never have the chance to share such excitement with him in the first place._

And there was that wicked yearning again. That forbidden hunger. Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest, remembering that he was supposed to be angry with the demon he’d just spent God knows how long daydreaming about. Oh, he hoped God didn’t _really_ know; he still wasn’t sure if he was technically allowed to entertain such fantasies. He’d excused himself over the centuries because he knew he would never act on them. But were the thoughts themselves… well, what would She say if She heard them? Aziraphale shook himself out of that particularly uncomfortable thought.

With a sigh, he cleaned his fingers for the second time that hour and shifted his focus to his assignment–the one Crowley’d suggested he abandon, since it seemed they were canceling each other out. Well, Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure about that. But the demon _had_ been right about one thing, he thought as he remembered to clean up the wetness that had traveled down from his cunt to the middle of his thighs: it really _was_ a bit damp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Aziraphale be like:  
>   
> (Though honestly that's just Aziraphale's natural state as far as this fic is concerned.) [[return]]
> 
> 2\. The ace spectrum exists (and Crowley's on it). Aziraphale just doesn’t know about it yet and is also _super_ fucking horny, so. He be projectin’ just a wee bit, here. [[return]]
> 
> 3.  
>   
> You can be bOTH, honey!!!!![[return]]


	5. London, 1601

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale returns from Edinburgh to find that Crowley has made good on his promise to take care of Hamlet. Why is his heart doing weird things about it??

Hamlet was a huge success. It shouldn’t have surprised him, really. Crowley had _told_ Aziraphale he’d take care of it. Yet, the angel couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread from his chest up to his cheeks when he returned from Edinburgh to find the Globe theatre sold-out and Shakespeare’s latest drama to be the talk of the town.

Scotland had been… damp. And dull. Well, he’d been successful, anyway, in both the blessing and the tempting. And the horse riding really hadn’t been as bad as he’d anticipated–though he _was_ a bit sore.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he took a seat in his chair. It was good to be home. He’d taken a semi-permanent residence in London for the time; a cozy little cottage that he’d happily begun to fill with a growing collection of books–many of which were first editions, even! He was quite proud of his collection and hoped to expand it one day. But books were the last thing on his mind as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

What Aziraphale told himself was that he needed to orgasm in order to relieve his soreness from riding that damned horse. What Aziraphale didn’t allow himself to even _consider_ was that seeing the results of Crowley’s handling of Hamlet had left him feeling… some sort of way.

“My treat,” Crowley’d said, and the angel’s heart fluttered at the memory.

Suddenly naked, Aziraphale relocated to his bed, sprawling himself out, and teased his chest briefly before diving down to his cunt. “Mmph, Crowley.”

He wasn’t even sure what to fantasize about. Eating him out, or sucking him off? Being eaten out or sucked off by him? Having him inside of him? Being inside of him? The possibilities were endless. In the realm of fantasy, at least.

Yet all Aziraphale could seem to focus on was… Crowley. His face, his beautiful golden eyes–obscured by the sunglasses of the era. His hair, in all the various lengths and styles it’d seen. His scent, like smoke and cinnamon and rain. His smile. Oh, Lord, his _smile_! Aziraphale sighed as he continued rubbing himself.

“So beautiful,” he said aloud, slowing his fingers, wanting to draw it out, running over every image of Crowley that’d ever been held in his blessed eyes. How could any being that’d been _damned_ also be so… so _lovely?_ Aziraphale had seen other demons. He shuddered at the mere thought of them. Where did Crowley get off being so… so… so _breathtaking_?! And, and sweet! Oh, he would deny it outright, surely, but… To have made a play that he didn’t even enjoy a success without being asked? Imagine! And all because, what, Aziraphale had given him a hopeful _look_? Was that really what’d led him to do such a gracious thing?

Aziraphale moaned and slipped a few fingers inside himself. He rubbed that spot, just so, and bit his lip as he imagined Crowley touching him instead.

But, no. That didn’t feel quite right for the moment. Crowley ought to be attended to, he thought. It ought to be _Crowley_ being made to come on Aziraphale’s fingers. Moaning and keening and whimpering and sweating and _oh,_ what would his sweat taste like? Aziraphale would lick it clean off of him if he could. He imagined licking Crowley’s clavicle, then along his collarbone, then down the middle of his chest. He imagined the demon groaning and fisting a hand in his hair.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and began to imagine that he was feeling pleasure _as_ Crowley, rubbing against that sweet spot inside of him and wishing the demon could feel it. He bit his lip, speeding up his movements, and stimulated his clit sloppily with his thumb. “Oh, you deserve this,” he moaned. “You deserve to feel _so_ good, Crowley.”

The imagined sounds of Crowley whimpering and moaning in pleasure filled his mind.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Aziraphale murmured on repeat, feeling his (or, in his fantasy, _Crowley’s_ ) orgasm approaching. “Feel good. I want you to feel good. Come for me, Crowley. C-come– C– Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes, _yes_!”

It happened as it usually did. He felt the pleasure building in his body, making him feel just a bit as though he were on fire. He felt himself tense and then melt into the mattress. And then he was extremely… wet. More wet than he’d ever been in his experience as a sexual being. It _couldn’t_ be blamed solely on _sweat_ , he realized with a frown. He glanced down to see that fluid had covered the sheets all around his crotch, and even down toward his knees.

_Did I just… urinate?!_ Aziraphale grimaced, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, though there had been no witnesses to this unexpected turn of events. _I’ve never done that before…_

Upon further inspection, it didn’t seem to be urine, exactly, but he really had no context for understanding what it might be instead. But what was done was done, and as he cleaned himself and his bedding with the snap of his fingers, he decided it was best not to dwell on it.

…Only, he couldn’t seem to help it. He’d been masturbating regularly for over _1,500_ years, and _never,_ in all his sexual experience, had anything so… so _strange_ happened. He felt just a tad humiliated about it, if he were being honest. 1

What made it all worse was the realization that this had happened during what had been perhaps the most emotional masturbation session Aziraphale had ever had. He couldn’t ignore the correlation. He’d experienced such a _strong_ feeling–so far beyond a simple physical attraction to Crowley’s form, or the innocent curiosity he’d had when he’d first begun exploring himself and playing with the world of fantasy.

No, Aziraphale couldn’t blame this on the need to satisfy his human-shaped body’s urges. He couldn’t wave it away with the excuse that he’d simply needed to relieve stress, or even that he wanted to indulge in a bit of earthly pleasure. This wasn’t like eating, or reading, or basking in sunlight. This was different. This was deeper. It _felt_ deeper. Aziraphale had gotten so excited in the first place all because Crowley had done something _kind_ for him.

_No! That doesn’t warrant a sexual response at all!_ Aziraphale felt a rising panic in his chest as he realized the gravity of his most recent fantasy. He’d had the most intense orgasm of his life because he’d thought about… pleasuring a _demon_? While saying, _aloud_ , that Crowley _deserved_ it?! The Almighty had cast him out for a reason! Certainly, _She_ deemed him unworthy of… of… well, anything _good_ , Aziraphale supposed. How had Aziraphale strayed so far as to consider a _demon_ to be… deserving of… _pleasure_ … by the hands of an _angel_ , no less… _Oh, dear._ Had She seen? Had She witnessed Aziraphale’s rather _extreme_ reaction to such an idea? _Oh, Lord, I cannot cope with this._

Aziraphale slumped back against his bed and cried in shame.

It was only a few days later that he had to face Crowley. They’d planned to meet upon his return to London, to go over Aziraphale’s trip so that Crowley wouldn’t have to _completely_ falsify his paperwork. It was an important part of the Arrangement that Aziraphale had insisted upon. He couldn’t possibly regret that more than he did now.

Arriving at their meeting place early, Aziraphale took a seat at an inconspicuous table near the back of the restaurant and fussed with his hands in his lap. He recalled the very first time he saw Crowley after he’d begun masturbating to thoughts of the demon. He’d blushed, certainly, and couldn’t seem to hold eye contact for more than a second at a time. But Crowley hadn’t seemed to notice, and Aziraphale had survived, and had learned to separate his fantasy life from reality with ease not long after that. It’d never been a problem again.

As soon as Crowley entered the restaurant, however, Aziraphale realized that he’d set himself up for _quite_ a problem. It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and touching Crowley as the demon moved to take a seat across from him. He wanted to stand up, to take his hand in his own, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek, or perhaps even the lips. Then, he would pull him into a warm embrace. He would pull out his chair for him, and–

“How was Scotland, then?” Crowley asked, snapping the angel out of his thoughts.

“What? Oh, oh yes. Right. It was, ah. Fine.” At Crowley’s quirked brow, Aziraphale scrambled to make some sense. “I accomplished both tasks with ease, and am only _slightly_ sore.”

“From?”

“The horse riding.”

“Right. Can’t say I envy you that.”

“Well, as I said, it wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated.” Aziraphale took a deep breath as subtly as he could, and willed himself to sound normal as he said, “I’ve heard Hamlet has become quite the success.”

Crowley remained expressionless. “Have you?” he said flatly.

Aziraphale nodded, daring to hold the demon’s gaze. “It’s the talk of the town,” he said with a forced brightness, though it did little to mask the anxiety underneath. He cleared his throat. “Which is why I wanted to, um… Well, I wanted to thank–”

“Don’t do that,” Crowley snapped, then looked around the room.

Aziraphale gulped, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose not.”

The rest of the conversation was bearable. They ordered drinks, which Aziraphale dared not consume too quickly lest he lose his already questionable ability to control himself. There were also a few appetizers that the angel gladly ate on his own. _Alright,_ he thought, _this is quite normal; I can manage this._

He recounted the temptation he’d done on Crowley’s behalf, and, as usual, had to steer the conversation back to their work when the demon got distracted. “Really, Crowley, this is _important_ ,” he chastised him. “If…,” he lowered his voice, “if your side were to find out you’ve been lying on half your paperwork–”

“It’s not _half_ my paperwork,” Crowley scoffed, “you’re not doing _half_ my job for me, angel.”

“Yes. Well. However much it is, they wouldn’t be pleased to learn you’ve been deceiving them. So it really is _quite_ important that you pay attention!”

Crowley nodded absently and mumbled something affirmative, and Aziraphale relaxed into his seat, relieved that everything felt normal again.

And then the conversation ended, and they left the restaurant together, and Aziraphale couldn’t seem to slow his heartbeat as they walked, side-by-side, getting dangerously close to the angel’s side of town.

It was dangerous because Aziraphale’s mind had decided it would be a lovely time to flood him with all sorts of terrible ideas. Ideas like inviting Crowley over for another drink. Thanking him for saving that play, without using the words that Crowley wouldn’t let him speak. Running his fingers through long red hair, brushing it behind the demon’s ear, or over his shoulder, baring his neck to him. Then he could take Crowley’s hand and kiss all the way up his arm, to that lovely neck. Or, up to his _mouth_ , even? Oh, that would be nice. Even nicer would be introducing him to his bed, and the sorts of things he did on his bed. There would be kissing and licking and sucking and, _oh_ , maybe even _biting_ , and of course he’d want to–

“So, anything else interesting happen lately?”

Aziraphale froze in his tracks and turned the color of the dreary grey sky above them. “What? No! Why would you think anything else would’ve happened that was even _remotely_ noteworthy? I simply did as we agreed and returned. There hasn’t been any _time_ for anything else to happen!”

Crowley frowned. “…Right.”

“ _Must_ you be so close?”

Crowley gave the angel his physical space, but pressed the issue. “You sure you’re… alright? Nothing’s happened? You’re being… I dunno, bit _weird_.”

Aziraphale forced a short laugh. “What do you mean? I– No. No, I _assure_ you, I’m _quite_ fine _._ ”

“…Right…”

“I truly am! Now go on back to yours and leave me be,” Aziraphale said, a bit more snappish than he’d intended to sound (but considerably less snappish than he _felt_ ). “I’ve other things to do, you know. My life doesn’t _revolve_ around our meetings!”

“Mhmm.” Crowley’s frown deepened, if that were possible. His eyebrows had already disappeared under the frames of his glasses, and his forehead was so scrunched it might’ve created several new wrinkles.

Aziraphale gulped and turned away from the demon. “I’ve things to attend to. I’ll be seeing you again soon, I’m sure.” He quickly added as he scurried away, “Or not! It could be months, _years_ , and I’d be just fine without you!”

“…Right.”

“Right! Goodbye.”

Aziraphale could hardly control his breath as he made his way back to his home. _This is not at all alright. I_ must _put an end to this! I… I won’t think of him anymore, from this point on. I won’t think of_ anything _when I do those things. Surely I am capable of… of pleasuring myself without the aid of a fantasy!_ “Yes,” he said, nodding to himself as he entered his home. “I’m certain I could manage that.”

He couldn’t.

After a few nights of refusing to touch himself at all (as if he deserved some sort of punishment for his behavior), Aziraphale tried to touch himself without thinking of, well, _anything_. It took him nearly two hours to climax, and he’d had to stop several times throughout until those sneaky little fantasies that had crept into his mind subsided.

The next two nights were much the same. On the third night, Aziraphale nearly cried in frustration of not being able to make himself come from touch alone. Why did he… Why did he _need_ Crowley in order to achieve orgasm?! Was that how it was for the humans? Were they really incapable of sexual pleasure without fantasizing about each other?

Aziraphale tried, then, to compromise by fantasizing as vaguely as possible. He imagined a mouth on his cunt, or the taste of an unspecified person’s sex on his own tongue. He pretended that the fingers he pumped inside himself were either the cock or the fingers of some nameless lover, trying (and failing) to work him to orgasm.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t pleasurable at _all_ –the physical stimulation didn’t go unnoticed by Aziraphale’s body by any means. But it simply couldn’t hold a candle to the sensations that thoughts of a certain demon brought–pleasure that seemed to be sourced from somewhere deep inside Aziraphale’s very being, not just his clit.

After a week of increasingly sad and infuriating wank sessions, Aziraphale sighed, and let Crowley back into his bed.

He came in under two minutes, tears of relief and shame streaming down the side of his face. He was nowhere near willing to examine just how deep his feelings for Crowley might go, but he could no longer ignore that he was, at the very least, _infatuated_ with the demon. The longest-held infatuation in history, apparently.

And, no matter how he reasoned with himself, no matter how _desperately_ he begged his heart to put such foolish feelings aside, he couldn’t seem to be rid of them.

So he decided to stop trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Aziraphale would later come to know that what had happened was called “squirting”. He gained quite a bit of pride at being able to achieve such bliss that this would happen, but at the time he was almost convinced that his corporation had malfunctioned. [[return]]  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> We have officially entered the "Aziraphale knows he feels Some Sorta Way about Crowley" territory of this fic. *blows kiss* Enjoy the porn with feelings.


End file.
